


nothing left here to stop me

by yumeniai



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, why is there another one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumeniai/pseuds/yumeniai
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki broke all of Victor’s carefully crafted rules like water through tissue paper.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another one inspired by Dido's music. Why. Is there another one.  
> This time it's 'Life for Rent' because it fits Victor pre-Yuuri a bit too well.  
> Kind of also inspired by Victor's apartment change from the TV anime to blu-ray.  
> Not really connected to 'best day of my life'.  
> Enjoy.

Victor’s apartment in St. Petersburg was only one in a chain of them, at this point.

After he was finally old enough to move out from Yakov and Lilia’s ridiculous house, he just couldn’t really find a place he really thought of as ‘home’.

This apartment was too dark. That one was too far from the rink. Too damp, too dry, not friendly for pets. Too hard to clean, too cramped, too noisy, too quiet. Even the ones he liked well enough had to be vacated every few months or so, when the paparazzi caught up with him.

He changed apartments so often he sometimes wondered if it was really worth unpacking his boxes.

By the time he turned 26, he could pack up his life and move it all into a new place in a single day. He’d certainly had enough practice, and wasn’t particularly attached to anything he owned apart from Makkachin and his wardrobe, and the latter got replaced every few months.

Even as he stowed away the last of his books he was already picking apart this new apartment. The shelves were in a corner too far from the window, he worried that his references would get too musty. He collapsed on the couch. At least that was comfortable enough.

Makkachin finished exploring the new place and bounded up to Victor, woofing gently as she collapsed on his legs. Victor smiled and absently petted her, gaze unfocused as he stared out of the window.

He wondered what he would skate next season.

* * *

Victor was an irredeemable playboy. His rink mates knew it, his fans knew it, the media ran sensational stories about his new playthings. Victor ignored most of it.

Playboy or not, Victor had rules. Russian skaters were fine but only if they didn’t also train under Yakov, which pretty much meant ice dancers or hockey players only. Other figure skaters from other countries could only be flings, not relationships, and only after competitions, not during. No one under 20, Victor didn’t particularly enjoy looking up the age of consent in whatever country he was in at the time. Nobody even peripherally related to anyone working in the media. Women had to be on long term contraception. Everyone had to have a clean bill of health.

Only if they were busy enough that they couldn’t meet regularly and understood the importance of a demanding schedule over the relationship itself. No long-term commitments and no moving in together, but only exclusive relationships. And always a confidentiality agreement.

Some of this was public knowledge, like the testing. Victor thought that was just sensible. Condoms failed, after all, and he didn’t want to be sick during a competition. Or skate with ulcers on his cock or something.

Unsurprisingly, none of his relationships really lasted very long.

He stared as his latest boyfriend – 26, doctor, found someone else – walked out of the bar. Victor just felt empty.

He wondered if he could use this for his next program. No, a break-up alone was too trite. Perhaps something about finding love after a break-up.

Victor doubted it would be long before he found his next lover, after all. And surely they would enjoy it if his program was ‘inspired’ by them. 

* * *

Victor loved to travel. Once, he had thought it was all he wanted. To travel the world with nothing but the clothes on his back, his skates, and Makkachin by his side. To spend days on the beach, without the restrictions of diet and practice. To wake up whenever he felt like it, to sleep when he felt tired, to eat what he wanted to.

He tried to take a small holiday after each competition, a week at most, just exploring whichever country he was in at the time.

After Skate America, Victor booked himself a week-long stay in New York. He did all the touristy things, bought himself an overpriced ticket to a Broadway musical, went to the art galleries, saw a ballet he couldn’t help but compare to the Bolshoi, ate at stupidly priced restaurants and suspiciously cheap fast food joints alike. He danced the night away in clubs and drank more than his diet allowed in ridiculously coloured, sickly sweet cocktails.

He got bored and returned to Russia three days too early. He pasted on a smile at Yakov’s shouting and returned to the ice.

It was only slightly less empty than New York had been.

* * *

Yuuri Katsuki broke all of Victor’s carefully crafted rules like water through tissue paper.

At the Grand Prix banquet, Victor _wanted_. He’d broken up with his last partner – girl, 25, ballet dancer training under Lilia who threatened to castrate Victor once she found out if he didn’t end it – a month or so ago and he was lonely. And this feeling …

It was something he’d never felt before.

It was light and beauty and the other man was so radiant. He laughed so freely, danced with abandon, drew in everyone around him like children towards cake, made them feel equally uninhibited.

Victor felt like he could live in that radiance, bask himself in that warmth, and finally, find something more. Love. Home. Something.

Victor’s rules were there to protect himself, he knew that, but in this moment, he didn’t care. He wanted Yuuri Katsuki, and if he asked, would have devoted himself to the other man without hesitation.

He starts doubting as soon as he returned to his own room, of course.

One sign, he thought to himself, and made sure Chris knew he had Victor’s permission to give his number to Yuuri, should the Japanese man ask.

If he contacts me, he thought. Follows me on Twitter. Anything.

* * *

Yuuri didn’t. He failed miserably at Japanese Nationals instead. And for months, there’s nothing.

* * *

Victor tried to lose himself in another relationship. It doesn’t work. He can’t stop himself from thinking of the Japanese man, that one night, so akin to a dream he wouldn’t have believed it even happened if he didn’t scroll though his pictures so often. If Yura didn’t throw him glares every so often, muttering under his breath about ‘Japanese name-stealers’ and crushing them.

If there’s one good thing about this all, Victor thought, it’s that he relates to the first part of Stammi Vicino more than ever.

* * *

He’s preparing to move again – as he thought, this new apartment’s reading nook is far too dark, Victor prefers natural light whenever he can get it – when the video is posted.

It’s the sign he’s been waiting for.

He ships the boxes to Japan instead.

* * *

_While my heart is a shield and I won't let it down_  
_While I am so afraid to fail so I won't even try_  
_Well how can I say I'm alive_


End file.
